


Living Large

by itsrichietozier



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Belly Kink, Chubby Eddie Kaspbrak, Feeding Kink, Hand Feeding, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Movie: IT Chapter Two (2019), Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21699106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsrichietozier/pseuds/itsrichietozier
Summary: There are no further quips as Eddie pulls Richie’s hand towards himself, gently maneuvering it to flatten out against his stomach. Hidden behind the baggy shirt Eddie is currently wearing, his stomach rounds out under Richie’s palm, distended from breakfast.*Updated!*
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 158





	1. Savoury

**Author's Note:**

> To those who opened this fic, thanks for giving it a chance!
> 
> This is about Eddie having an eating/stuffing kink and yes I'm embarrassed to have actually wrote it 🙈

“Wait, wait, hang on a second. You- _what_?”

Eddie shushes him as if they were in the middle of a crowded subway instead of in the privacy of their kitchen, cheeks ruddy and fingers tapping an inconsistent beat against the marble counter-top.

Richie _thinks_ he heard correctly. That Eddie just told him that he liked to eat. For _sexual_ reasons. All while looking like he was seconds from breaking down and snapping the handle right off his mug with the death grip he currently has on it. And Richie, ever the vanilla, promptly choked on his coffee and coughed up a spray that landed just inches from their decretive napkin holder placed just-so in the center of the breakfast bar. And he hadn’t meant to overreact in such a way – he thought that if the time had come where Eddie would approach him on the subject of trying something out, he’d be ready for it – but Eddie’s confession was announced without any build up, an equivalent of a baseball being launched directly to the forehead at 100mph.

“ _You_?” He splutters, disbelieving, snatching a handful of napkins so he could wipe up the coffee dribbling down his chin, “You, Edward Francis Kaspbrak, get off on _eating_?”

It’s expressed just a little bit louder – and pitched around an octave higher, due to the surprise – than he would usually speak, and Eddie just about launches himself over the bar to cup his hand over Richie’s mouth, the flush on his cheeks spreading to his ears, “I’d rather you not announce it to the entire apartment complex!” he hisses, “If word got out, someone could sell it to the fucking – I don’t know – _TMZ_ or _whatever_ and this is absolutely _not_ the only detail I want people knowing about me!”

Richie, who has recovered in record time from his earlier coughing fit, beams up at Eddie beneath his slender fingers, holding back the childish urge to lick his palm. Luckily for Eddie, he pulls his hand away from Richie’s mouth. Worry lines crease his forehead, the earlier fire leaving in a sigh. He leans back on the stool and idly starts scratching at the morning stubble yet-to-be-shaved on his cheeks in order to give his hands something else to do, looking everywhere but at Richie himself.

Richie takes the reins, “Okay, before the hypothetical gets outta hand, do you wanna, like, talk about it? Or was this just a get-it-off-your-chest-never-to-be-spoken-of-ever-again kinda thing? Because we don’t have to get into it or anything. I’ll just pretend like it never happened if that’s what you want.” He even throws out an exaggerated shrug, just to be casual about it, to show Eddie that he really thought it wasn’t that big of a deal. Hell, he’s definitely heard weirder stuff.

No matter what Eddie chose, though, Richie is honestly thankful he now knows the reason for Eddie’s increasing weight over the past four months. Because if he could be honest, he thought about bringing it up once or twice, because he never expected Eddie to start putting on weight and say absolutely nothing regarding it. Though if he wasn’t concerned about it, then Richie would keep his mouth shut. He of all people certainly had the common sense to keep his mouth shut about a person’s weight gain.

While Eddie had been sitting in the hospital for the nasty laceration just above his hip– Richie had managed to roll him out of the way of the impending talon he’d seen in the Deadlights, just not _fast enough_ – he’d been weak, ghostly white from the shock of the situation, which only enunciated the purple bags underneath his eyes. When the nurse helped him out of his polo to start the stitching, Richie could see the awful shape he was in. Richie didn’t know what Eddie’d been eating back in New York, but whatever it was it hadn’t been enough. And with the dietary restrictions he had heard him ramble off in the Jade, Richie knew that even if Eddie was eating, his views on food had probably been skewered to hell and back, making it so Eddie only ate when he had to, like it was a chore. Something he took no pleasure in doing. 

So, when Eddie had been given the OK to leave – the entire procedure only lasted a couple hours, give or take – Richie had stopped at some local fast food joint, followed up by a small convenience store for some snacks on the way back to the townhouse. Everyone had been camped out in Stan’s room for a final get-together before they all had to meet their planes in the early morning. Richie had let everyone fend for themselves when he set the bags down, but personally handed Eddie his own, modified specifically for him and his – so-called – dietary restrictions, and told him to eat up. It was one of the healthiest burger on the menu, filled with an assortment of vegetables and fake meat. And Richie was ready for Eddie to decline anyway, ready to have to convince Eddie that he’s allowed to treat himself, that a burger wouldn’t do him any harm. But to his surprise, he hadn’t needed to. Eddie took out the burger wrapped neatly in yellow paper and Richie could hear loud and clear the ravenous growl that wailed from his stomach as he breathed in the heavenly aroma of his supper, followed quickly by Eddie inhaling his food like he hadn’t had a filling meal in weeks.

All throughout the night, Richie was practically glued to Eddie’s side, too caught up in conversation to notice that Eddie was slowly working his way through all the snacks Richie had brought. And when the time came for everyone to separate, Eddie gingerly laid down on Richie’s bed -of course he wasn't going back to his own- curling up on his side and rubbing at a stomach upset from overzealous snacking. Back then, Richie didn’t even think anything of it. He’d made a playful jab at Eddie going ham on the snacks and gave his stomach a few passing pats as he got comfortable on his own side of the bed. 

_Huh_. Now that Richie’s thinking about it, he supposes that’s where it had started.

Comparing how he looked then, to how he looked a month after Derry, just about jogging across the airport to tackle Richie into a hug, is an immense change. A healthy flush of the cheeks, the bruises under his eyes nearly gone, body visibly relaxed. He couldn't stop smiling the entire way to Richie's high-rise apartment and continued to do so up until they fell asleep curled around each other in Richie's not-so-lonely-anymore King.

And from then on, Richie’d noticed the gradual changes; took in the way Eddie’s face filled out, felt the soft give of his hips where there wasn’t before. And when it was his turn to do the laundry, he’d always find Eddie’s clothes all neatly tucked away into the hamper, noticed the swapped out wardrobe when the former no longer fit.

But beside the visual tells, Eddie had given off zero indication that eating was something he was _into_ into. Which, in a public setting, is understandable. Even around the Losers, or even just with Richie, Eddie had never drawn any attention to his weight. If something didn’t fit, he’d slip it back off and wordlessly find something else to wear with no fuss. Any time they’d eat together, just the two of them, Eddie would always be focused on something else, like weekend plans, upcoming meetings or the next Losers Club gathering, only picking at his food every so often as he spouted off a thousand words a minute while waving his silverware into the air with wide, dramatic gestures.

“I do – I do want to talk about it, actually.” Eddie’s voice brings Richie back to the present.

After a moment of silence where Eddie remains stock still, lips pressed tight together and back ram-rod straight, Richie jumps in again, “So, are you into, like, sexy food play or what. This is one of the few I actually know and let me tell you I am all hair and it’s a fucking disaster down there, man. Seriously.”

“Not like that!” Eddie snaps and then makes a face, something wide eyed and embarrassed, and snaps his mouth shut. It takes him a moment to continue, “I mean, fuck, something like that! But it’s –” Richie sees him glance briefly at the front door, as he were ready to bail, “It’s –” He trails off again, flexing and unflexing his fingers, still refusing to meet Richie’s eye. Richie can just about hear the internal debate going on inside Eddie’s head, the two sides fighting over whether or not he should just say it.

“It’s…?” Richie prompts, hoping that it would get Eddie to respond. The eating part he got, obviously, but there was more. He's kinda really dying to know what more there could be next to the earlier Eddie Kaspbrak Plot Twist.

Instead, to Richie’s surprise, Eddie starts pacing through the apartment, posture tense, clearly thinking. He weaves around the couches and end tables. Gets lost in his thoughts and just about bumps into their old, shitty air hockey table that only works half the time. Starts wringing his hands.

Richie simply watches him for a moment from his spot at the bar, knowing that Eddie was going to work himself up if he continued like this. He can clearly see the pinched look to his face, cheeks rosy and spread down his neck past the wide collar of Eddie’s shirt.

“Eddie.” Richie calls, “Eds, baby, come back.” He hopes the pet name gets his attention. Eddie takes a few more steps, a hesitant one pointed more towards the hallway down to their bedroom, before he stops with his back to Richie with his shoulders hunched up to his ears, “Eds, c’mon, talk to me.” When Eddie still doesn’t make a move, Richie slips off the bar stool to join Eddie in the hallway. As soon as he’s close enough, Richie doesn’t hesitate to pull Eddie back into his chest, planting a kiss to the crown of his head.

Eddie sighs, “Richie.” He laughs, nervous and sharp, “It’s fucking weird, Rich, I’m serious.”

“I mean,” Richie starts, because if there was one thing to ground Eddie, it was a swift gear change into another conversation, “Stan told me like, a week ago that he was into wax play. And you wouldn’t tell Stan to his face that you thought his wax play thing was weird, would you?”

As expected, Eddie’s posture slackens and he lets himself out of Richie’s hold so that he can _finally_ look him in the eye, eyebrows shot up to his hairline, “ _Stan_ told you that? As in Uris? Stanley Uris told you that? When _was_ this? Are you even _allowed_ to tell me about this?”

“Yes Stanley Uris – what other Stans do we _know_? It was during the get together at Bev’s, remember? Oh wait, no you don’t, because you’re a fuckin’ lightweight who passes out after two beers. Everyone knows the juicy shit gets passed around at 3AM!” Richie winks, a grin fast appearing, “I mentioned it the next morning and he was like _that’s not all we get up to_ ,” Richie puts on his best Stan impression, which unprofessionally cracks around the edges due to the smile on his face, “Well I _never_ – Stan you adventurous lover you! Patty is a lucky gal”

Eddie is cracking up now, “I don’t believe it.” When Eddie laughs, his scar just about gets lost in his dimple. Richie finds it incredibly endearing, wanting to badly to pinch his cheek. 

“Believe it! Stay up until three for once and you can hear what Bill and Mike get up to!”

There’s a moment of laughter. When it dies down, Richie’s smile turns soft. He combs his fingers gently through Eddie’s hair, giving it a small little rustle into disarray. Without the gel, it flops messily over his forehead. And when he speaks his voice is even softer, “Listen, man, there’s tons of bizarre shit I’ve heard throughout the years. Cross my heart, yours won’t weird me out. This is a judgement-free household. Absolutely no shaming here.” Eddie groans and playfully shoves at his shoulder.

“Okay, fuck, okay. Give me your hand before I lose my nerve, then, asshole.”

When Richie's hand is in his, there are no further quips as Eddie pulls it towards himself, gently maneuvering it to flatten out against his stomach. Hidden behind the baggy shirt Eddie is currently wearing – one of Richie’s shirts, actually, which Eddie has been wearing a lot more of – his stomach rounds out under Richie’s palm, slightly distended from breakfast, noticeable enough that there’s a slight curve to Richie’s palm when he places it flat. And _oh_ , he hadn’t been expecting that. It was different than all the time he’d touched Eddie’s stomach during intimate moments, when it was only a soft amount of pudge pooching over the waistband of his briefs. Or even when after bigger meals, back when two and two didn't connect and Richie wouldn't think twice about giving it a playful poke or pat-down. Now that he's well and truly focused, he can feel how it protrudes outwards. There's a good amount of give when he digs his fingers in, but it's clear that it's become firm with the intake of food.

He’d been beside Eddie for the entirety of breakfast. Seen him eat his usual of scrambled eggs and toast. The resulting bloat couldn’t have just been from that. Or it could’ve, Richie really had no clue.

He looks up from Eddie’s stomach to look Eddie in the eye. Eddie’s face is so red, the flush has basically swallowed up his freckles.

“Was this from breakfast?” He can’t stop the awe creeping into his voice. He’s kinda captivated by the feel of Eddie’s belly, round and warm under his hand. He gives it a gentle, little pat, liking the way his fingers rebounded off of it, “Would you get so… big from that?”

“I – no. It was after my run this morning.” Eddie is looking up at him, but his gaze keeps continuously slipping off to the side, focusing on the fridge where multiple group photos of the Losers Club are set up by various tacky magnets. “I, uh, just chugged a little protein shake and some almond milk. I mean, it wasn’t exactly in my itinerary for me to tell you this today. I was just going to hide it like I usually did, but – I don’t know – I wanted you to know.” His shuffles his weight from foot to foot in a little anxious dance.

So, that was, at least, around six in the morning, and Richie was still around five hours from waking up. So, if Eddie hadn’t told him, he wouldn’t have ever known.

“So, you just… do that in private? All the time?” He’s definitely distracted by the thought of Eddie doing what he did in secret while Richie slept down the hall. Even more so distracted by what Eddie would’ve looked like as he slugged back his drinks. If he had stayed in his running gear or if he’d stripped down to only his briefs. If he’d sat at the table or laid out on the couch. Wonder if he’d jerked off in the shower afterwards –

_Focus, Richie!_

“I mean, yeah? What part of _didn’t want you knowing_ don’t you get?”

Richie just chuckles and brings his free hand in to rest on Eddie’s side, then runs the one that had been previously settled on Eddie’s hip, up to his shoulder, and finally settling on his jaw. While his left hand rubs a soothing circle on Eddie’s waist, the other rubs a thumb over the pink, raised scar on his cheek. “You know, you can tell me anything right? Like in the future. You don’t have to keep stuff like this a secret from me. I mean, I joke about shit all the time, but I am capable of taking things seriously. I wouldn’t like, think of you any differently, or make fun of you.”

There’s a brief tremble to Eddie’s lips as he visibly relaxes under Richie’s hand, and he looks up at him with those big, brown doe-eyes of his, “Thanks, Rich.”

“So, talk to me.” Richie says, “Tell me what you like.”

“Okay.” Eddie still has a slight pinch to his eyebrows, but at least he doesn’t look like he wants to book it to their bedroom and hide under the covers. “It’s not just the eating, Rich. It’s just, I might’ve gone a little overboard with trying all the shit that I couldn’t have before. Like it started out normal – or I think it did – but I kept wanting _more_. Like I got this – this _thrill_ when I knew I was going to take another helping, even if I had already had enough. And -and it felt good, so fucking good. It felt good to push myself to have that extra piece of pie or whatever just because I could. And I wasn’t even intending on putting on weight, it just kinda happened, but I like it too. I just – you have _no_ idea.”

Richie shrugs nonchalantly, “Ehh, college me could probably relate. I got hit hard by the freshman 50.”

“Dude, I am literally revealing my guts to you right now.” There’s a slight, clearly nervous smile on Eddie face, and he tilts his head down, away from Richie’s gaze as his hand joins on top of Richie’s where it’s still placed on his stomach. Richie can feel his fingers trembling.

“Hey, sorry. Deep breaths.” Richie says gently, “It’s okay.”

Eddie nods quickly, and breaths in. He holds it for around seven seconds and then slowly lets it back out, gathering his bearings. When he looks up back up at Richie, Richie shoots him an encouraging smile.

“I like feeling full,” Eddie says, slower, “I like treating myself with expensive shit, and I like that I can be greedy because I never _have_ before. And this,” Eddie presses down harder on Richie’s hand, putting more pressure on his stomach, “Being –” He basically has to force the word out, looking incredibly embarrassed having to say it out loud, “Being bloated feels fucking amazing.”

“Okay, cool, cool.” Fuck, definitely an under reaction this time, judging by the questioning tilt of Eddie’s head and how the creases deepen on his forehead again. But Richie wants to act casual about it, wants Eddie to know that this really isn’t something that he’s going to oppose. He wants to be calm and collected and ready. He definitely didn’t want a repeat of earlier with the coffee. He doesn’t understand where he fits into this scenario yet, though, “What do you want me to do?”

Eddie looks down at their joined hands for a moment, then stares back up at Richie with such a solid gaze Richie feels hypnotized, “I want you to feed me, Richie. Until I can’t eat anymore.”

“Oh.” Richie finally gets it. “ _Oh_!”

He's stunned into silence; he didn’t even think there _could_ be a second person involved in what Eddie liked. This was one he had zero experience in whatsoever, so everything Eddie was telling him was the first few things he’d learned about it. But it’s fine, he’d try anything once, just to see if it was something he could be into. He’d been in various relationships throughout the years, done this and that – mostly his college days, but there’d been a couple quick flings in his thirties – but nothing had exactly stuck. If Eddie wanted Richie to feed him, he’d do it.

Unfortunately for Richie, Eddie takes his response the wrong way, because he quickly backs up into the wall behind him, away from Richie’s hands, waving him off. Before Richie can reassure him, Eddie is already talking, going a mile a minute to try and backtrack for what he just said.

“Wait, we don’t – you don’t have to do it! You can say no, Rich, I get it!”

“Eds, no, that’s –!”

“It’s something completely out of left field and it’s something I get a lot of people aren’t into and it’s pretty weird. So, you don’t have to do anything just to make me feel better, you –”

“Eddie – Eddie, would you hold on, Christ!”

Eddie finally falls silent, staring up at Richie with what is most definitely a pout.

“You didn’t even let me say anything, you little turd! I was going to say that I was up for it!” Richie throws his hands up.

“Well, excuse me for being a little nervous! This isn’t exactly a casual conversation!” Eddie hisses, then his eyes widen, as if he’d just registered the other half of Richie’s sentence, “Wait, did you just say you _wanted_ to try? Richie, are you serious?

“Yeah, I’m up for it! Listen, man, this is like, one of the least weird things you could’ve possibly said. You should see the shit my fans message me on Twitter.” Richie had been expecting a lot of different things. Sure, he didn’t exactly get it, knew there was probably a lot more to it. But he didn’t think it was weird. Hell, he of all people definitely understood the pleasures of eating. He takes a small step forward and reaches out towards Eddie, cupping his hand around Eddie’s shoulder and giving it a small, reassuring squeeze, “Look, you might’ve surprised me at first, and can I just say, my bad for the reactions. But I really do want to try out new shit with you. I like making you feel good. And it could do something for me too, you never know.”

The worry lines ease up on Eddie's forehead, just a bit. He eyes Richie with a look of apprehension, “You’re really serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Richie nods.

“Fuck, okay.” Eddie takes a moment to scrub his palms into his eyes before he can look at Richie again, “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“Listen, man, I got it. You don't have anything to apologize for.” Like, of course he understands Eddie’s nervousness about the entire thing. Richie feels he would be just as nervous coming forward if he also had something he’d wanted to try out. He pointedly looks at Eddie’s stomach and gestures towards it, “Do you mind if I… uh… touch you again?”

There are a couple moments of hesitation from Eddie’s side, another internal struggle as he stares down at Richie’s outstretched hands. But after a few seconds, he’s nodding. “Okay. I – yeah, go ahead, Rich.”

Richie gently places his hands on Eddie’s stomach again and begins to rub, bunching the material of Eddie’s shirt underneath his large palms, in a slow, simple to-and-fro motion along his love handles. And Eddie must not expect the motion, because he freezes up, sucking in a gasp of air. Richie halts in his movement and just about pulls back, but then Eddie quickly calms.

“No, don’t – don’t stop!” He breathes, “Please, don’t stop.”

So, Richie continues. “Like this?” He’s never done this before. Has no idea any technique he could be using, if there is one. He thinks he’s doing good, but then Eddie snaps out of his gazing and joins his hands with Richie’s again.

“Here.” Eddie guides his hands. With Eddie leading Richie on where to go, with just the right amount of pressure added, Richie can feel the full extent of Eddie’s bloat. Since it’s only a shake, eggs and toast and some milk, Eddie’s stomach doesn’t distend outwards very far. It’s probably nothing close to how much Eddie usually puts away. But to Richie, who’s never stopped to actually _feel_ it, he’s fascinated. His hands, guided by Eddie, rub in large, circular motions, up and down, from the crest of his stomach, down to the lower area just underneath his navel, only going where Eddie wanted them to go. Though Richie does give a few experimental squeezes and exploring prods own his own, just to gauge Eddie’s reaction.

Because of their height difference, Richie can’t see Eddie’s face as he watches Richie’s large hands as they explore his middle, chin dropped down his chest. Though from the way his breathing becomes just a slight bit heavier, Richie is pleased to think that he could make Eddie react in such a way. He’s definitely enjoying it, having gone completely silent and watching Richie’s hands move like he was entranced.

“So, when did this whole thing start?” Richie asks. Because he thinks he knows. He just wants the confirmation.

It takes Eddie a moment to answer, and when he does, he doesn’t look up at Richie to do it. “Rain check?” _Dammit_.

“Is there anything else you’d want to try?”

“Rain check on that too.”

“Okay.” Richie still his hand and splays his palms flat, cupping Eddie’s soft sides, “Do you want to –” He gives a love handle a pat for good measure, just to be sure Eddie knew exactly what he was referring to. “Y’know.”

Eddie suddenly jolts and his heads snaps up so fast it makes Richie’s neck hurt. From his expression, Richie thinks he might as well have smashed one of Eddie’s favourite mugs directly in front of him. If it were possible, his eyebrows would have disappeared into his hairline, never to return. It’s an expression Richie is quite familiar with, seeing it most when they’re shopping in the Whole Foods and Richie calls _Eddie_ _Spaghetti_ from the complete opposite end of the isle in order to get Eddie’s attention, followed by Eddie pretending that he has no idea who Richie is and leaving the isle as quickly as physically possible.

“ _Now_?!”

“Well, I mean, if you want? Is this something you prepare for or what?”

Eddie stares up at him like he doesn’t know if Richie is serious or not, “ _Yes_? Richie, might I remind you that this is indeed a _sexual_ thing. You absolutely do have to plan ahead of time!” He holds up a hand and starts counting fingers, “Setting. Food. Drink. Aftercare. Aftercare is important.” Richie knows what aftercare is, so that’s at least one thing he’ll be able to get right on the first try. “It also extends to you too, the aftercare thing. Since you’d be my, uh –” Eddie stops and wordlessly gestures his hand towards Richie and then back towards himself, unable to finish that particular sentence, “We’ll talk about that part later.”

“Alrighty, Eddie, my love.” Richie is going to have to do a lot of Googling later. “So, when do you want to do this?”

“When? Do you want to schedule it?”

Richie just about laughs at the idea of a scheduled kink arrangement, but holds it. He instead starts smoothing out the wrinkles from the front of Eddie’s shirt from where his hands had rumpled it. Though, because he absolutely has to, he gives Eddie’s side a playful little pinch – not enough to hurt, of course. It earns him, completely deserved, a swat on the back of the hand as Eddie yelps out a startled laugh with a howl of _you little asshole_! And because Richie _is_ absolutely an asshole, he outstretches his hands like he’s going to go for it a second time, exaggeratedly wiggling his long fingers. Eddie launches at him before he can finish his bit, and his fingers only just brush Richie’s – very ticklish – sides before Richie is calling a time out, hands snatching Eddie’s wrists and pinning them down at his sides.

They both stare at each other, breathing slightly heavy. Eddie’s chest is now pressed tight to his, the distance closed between them when Richie had grabbed him. Richie is all too aware of how much broader he is than Eddie, how much bigger he is. His body basically engulfs his. From how close Eddie is, he can feel the slight bloat of Eddie’s stomach pressing into his own. It’s a foreign feeling, Richie being used to the soft give of pudge, instead of the firm mound currently pressed against him. A part of him wants to press all that much closer, hear Eddie groan against the pressure as Richie crowds him against the wall.

“How about I surprise you?” Richie’s voice has grown throaty.

“Yeah.” Eddie swallows hard. Richie wonders what he’s thinking. If he’s thinking of the same thing. “Surprise me.”

Richie is _definitely_ going to have to do a lot of Googling later.

It’s two weeks later when Richie decides to surprise Eddie with takeout.

For the past week – on the days that he wasn’t working on his sets or meeting with anyone important and Eddie was away at the insurance firm – he’d been hunched over his laptop in the privacy of their bedroom, plunged down deep into a rabbit hole consisting of a collection of YouTube videos that involved a surprising amount of food. Eddie had been pretty tight lipped on detailing any specifics, but gave Richie the okay to do a little research of his own just so he could see it first-hand. And thankfully it wasn’t a difficult concept, at least according to the videos. From the gist of it, all he’d needed was enough food meant to last for a least a couple servings – Eddie didn’t exactly have a preference when it came to different kinds of cuisine, so Richie’d played it safe with something easy – and Eddie would be all set.

And Richie knows that he probably hasn’t even dipped his toes in the water yet. The kink branches off in quite a few different directions in terms of possible additional likes and Richie has no idea where to even _start_ regarding that. It probably didn’t even matter at that point anyway, because chances are Eddie only wanted to show him the absolute minimum of it during their little test run – most likely not to scare Richie off, he guesses. Like _that_ could ever happen.

Eddie was due to arrive home a little later, having to take care of a couple errands after work, which gave Richie plenty of time to set the scene. He’d gone for something a little atmospheric. Dimming the lights. Cranking the fireplace. Lighting a few of the scented candles that Eddie bought in bulk that smelt like coffee. He wanted to make it special, absolutely taking inspiration from the cheesy rom-coms that they used to put on during sleepovers just so they could make fun of it.

Taking up a corner of the counter is an assortment of appetizers still warm in its delivery bag. Mozzarella sticks, potato skins, chicken wings and popcorn shrimp sit nestled in their containers, steaming hot and neatly tucked together alongside their accompanying sauces. Beside the bag are two medium pizza boxes; pineapple and mushroom for Richie and all dressed for Eddie – light on the cheese, heavy on the toppings. For beverages, Richie’d bought a 2 litre of Pepsi and a smaller bottle of iced tea for himself. The Pepsi was for Eddie, who liked to treat himself to a pop every now and then. Without fail, he’d complain about the carbonation and how the burping that resulted from it was mortifying, but always end up drinking every last drop anyway.

He just hopes he’d chosen correctly. He’d spent at least a good ten minutes flipping back and forth between the mountain of menus that he’d collected throughout the years before he finally settled on one before he ran out of time. A part of him thought about ordering something a little fancier for the occasion, but he wasn’t quite sure what would be considered a correct choice in this scenario. So, pizza it was, despite not being a sexy food – what made a food sexy, anyway? Luckily, he’s sure he’ll have another chance in the future, though next time he’s definitely getting Eddie’s input.

Richie is fussing over the throw pillows when he hears the front door unlock. Instantly, he stops what he’s doing so that he can bolt to the foyer – nearly grazing the end table that sits beside the foyer bench that holds the bowl for their keys. He makes it, just in time, as the door is shoved open as Eddie steps through the threshold, dressed up in his usual work attire of a suit -a sleek, dark navy – and expensive loafers that he’d bought for himself a month ago. Richie can see that his hair is slightly damp from the unexpected drizzle outside. Eddie’s arms are leaden with grocery bags, weighted down by the contents inside. He somehow doesn’t see Richie standing nearly two feet away from him as set he sets the bags on the floor to lock the door. Richie stays silent, not wanting to startle him, a dopey smile on his face while he watches the way Eddie’s shoulders move as he fiddles with the lock on their finicky doorknob.

“I’m back, Rich!” The lock finally clicks into place, “There were a lot of sales on so I-” He finally turns and jerks back immediately with an unintelligible shout when he just about collides into Richie’s shoulder, “Jesus _fucking_ _Christ_ , Richie!” He drops his keys as he clutches his heart.

Richie can’t help it. Loud guffaws tumble out between gasps, wracking his body as he holds his gut. He hadn’t even _meant_ to do it; he’d really thought Eddie heard him coming. He’s quick to raise his hands in a placating manor, “Not- not intentional!” he manages to get out, “I’m –” he gasps, trying to suppress his laughter, “I’m sorry, babe.” God, it wasn’t even _that_ funny.

The pet name softens Eddie’s face and he rolls his eyes and breathes out a hefty sigh as he takes a seat on the bench to start untying his shoes, “You’re forgiven. But I’m telling you right now; next it happens, you’re getting fucking tackled.”

Richie finally wrangles his laughter in. He’s breathless. “I’d like to see you try, short stack. Welcome home, by the way.” After placing a kiss to Eddie’s temple, he makes a grab for the bags on the floor to quickly deposit them onto the counter. He gives the delivery bags on the island a brief glance.

When he pops back into the foyer, he kneels down on the floor beside the bench, bracing a hand on Eddie’s thigh to keep himself from toppling over – which his creaky, old knees will absolutely hate him for tomorrow – slotting himself in between Eddie’s legs to get the perfect angle to gaze up at him from. A few clumps of hair messily stick to Eddie’s forehead, though Richie is more focused on the slight look of apprehension on his face.

“It smells good in here,” Eddie says. He tries to pass it off as a normal conversational topic, but there’s more to his voice, like there’s something else he wants to ask. Though, he doesn’t. “Thanks for buying supper. It’s a nice surprise.”

Richie suspects he knows exactly what the plan was here. His intentions were quite clear with the set-up. Eddie knew the night was coming, but maybe that tonight was _the_ night, he could’ve been having second guesses. Which was fine. Richie wasn’t going to say anything relating to their previous discussions on the off-chance Eddie didn’t actually want to try anything out. He could easily pass it off as a movie night if that’s what Eddie wanted. After all, it was his decision and Richie wasn’t going to push.

“I swung by that place you really like,” Richie shrugs it off casually, “The one with the popcorn shrimp that you loved so much you ate the entire platter and we had to buy a second round. Remember Beverly’s face when she came back from the bathroom to see you stuffing the last one in your mouth?” Richie chuckles, “Utter betrayal.”

There’d only been a handful of times where Eddie had inadvertently overeaten in front of the other Losers. Richie’d learned that when out in public, he was able to talk himself out of cravings and let the feelings pass, but with the Losers, he was a little more lenient towards himself. He always had his limits, which he would try his damndest to stick to, but if the moment came, with that _one_ meal that contained something he _absolutely_ wanted everything of, he wasn’t going to hold himself back knowing that the other Losers wouldn’t judge him for it. The first was their celebratory fast-food-snack-fest in the townhouse. Second was in September, for Eddie’s birthday, after he’d gotten his allergy tests results back and wanted to treat himself to seafood for the first time. October, when Ben and Beverly hosted a Losers only cocktail party to announce their unofficial engagement and Eddie had way too much wine and way too many appetizers on top of dinner. Ending in Richie having to physically wrestle him away from the snack table because the buttons on his fitted dress shirt had started to tug – and there’s _pictures_ of it, much to Eddie’s chagrin. And finally, Thanksgiving, where Richie now definitely thinks differently of the time he’d walked into the guest bedroom to see Eddie breathing shallowly and openly rubbing an aching middle filled with far too much food. And Richie was attentive, then, fetching him Pepto and his phone. And though at the time he didn't understand why Eddie wanted him out of the room, he left anyway with the promise that Eddie would call him back if he needed him. 

Needless to say Eddie never called him back into the room. When Richie entered around midnight, Eddie was fast asleep over the covers. 

The searching gaze leaves Eddie’s face as he rolls his eyes again, “Fuck off, it was the first time I tried seafood! And can I just say, what the fuck, seafood is fucking good! _Everything_ is so good! I spent years telling myself I didn’t need any of it, but I do! I’ve been missing out on so much good shit! You remember when we went to Sonic and I got myself that milkshake? I lost my fucking mind!”

 _Of course_ Richie remembers that. Hell, he’d basically handcuffed the mental image to himself of the way Eddie had his sweet mouth wrapped around the straw. The way he’d brought the cup to his lips in order to gather some whipped cream on his tongue. And don’t even get him _started_ on the moan when he took his first swallow of the sweet, cheesecake flavoured treat. Eddie’s going to kill him without realizing.

Richie leans up to kiss him, keeping a hand braced on Eddie’s thigh while the other moves to the back of his neck to pull him down. Eddie eagerly meets him hallway to connect their lips and Richie felt his knees weaken at the sharp taste of spearmint on Eddie’s tongue. His hand moves from his neck to his jaw, thumb brushing ever so softly over top his scar. Eddie’s hands have strayed, one tangled in his curls with the other holding tight to his shoulder. Their positions aren’t ideal – with Eddie seated and Richie just short of kneeling, knee only just cushioned by the shoe mat – only lost in the sensations of being so close to the other.

“Love you, Rich,” Eddie sighs when they pull apart. Richie’s stomach swoops with butterflies at the words, even after four months of hearing them. Overcome with a warm, fuzzy feeling, he nuzzles his face into Eddie’s neck, breathing in the scent of him – Eddie’s cologne smells similar to fresh linen, though with the change in weather, Richie can also smell the rain on his skin. He can feel Eddie’s pulse thrum against his cheek and he wants to get lost in it.

“Yeah, well, not to make it a contest or anything, but I love you more, Eds, my love.” And _God_ , he does. And he would tell the world if he could, armed with a megaphone, shout it from the stage during his shows. But Eddie’s never been a fan of being in the public eye – he doesn’t have a social media, and the only time he’s okay with being in a picture is if he’s in the background. As far as Richie’s audience is concerned, Richie is indeed dating, but they don’t know to who. While there’s been articles talking about _Tozier’s mysterious companion_ , they’ve never figured out who he actually was, hidden under sunglasses and hats. And if Eddie wanted to stay off the grid, Richie was going to keep it that way.

Richie gives another kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth before he’s standing, groaning, as his knees protest. He offers a hand to Eddie, “Up and at ‘em. Everything is still hot and we gotta put the groceries away.”

Eddie trails behind him into the kitchen, both falling into a comfortable quiet as they each grab a bag to put away. Richie’d grabbed the bag with the refrigerated items so he’ll have his back to Eddie while he’s ducked into the fridge. Before he turns though, he catches Eddie, who’s hands ghost over the perishable bag, staring at the takeout. He has that searching look again, forehead creasing as he silently contemplates. Richie turns away.

They both take their time. Richie more for Eddie’s sake to let him think everything over.

“Richie?” Five minutes later, Eddie’s voice sounds from somewhere behind him.

The fridge shuts as the final item is put away. “Eddie?” Spoken in the same inflection. He focuses his full attention on Eddie, who’s grasping a box of _Raisin Bran_ hard enough to dent the box, neatly trimmed nails digging crescents into the cardboard. There are a couple moments where it looks like Eddie wants to say something, face scrunching up in thought as he stares at the delivery bags, as if sizing them up. But his mouth remains drawn into a tight line. Richie waits patiently, leaning up against the island. He told himself he wasn’t going to push, so he wasn’t going to push.

Finally, Eddie gets it out, an expression of certainty spreading across his features, “I want – I want to –” He swallows hard and flaps the hand that’s currently not grasping the cereal towards the food, “Y’know. That. With you.”

Richie strides across the kitchen to grab the box from Eddie’s hands, setting it onto the counter. When both of his hands are free, Richie takes him in his own, “You’re sure? Like completely one hundred percent?” Because he wants to be sure. He wants Eddie to be absolutely certain about sharing this with him. He can feel that Eddie’s hands are slightly clammy within his. “I mean, we can work up to it. Start a little smaller or something. I want you to feel good about this entire thing, Eddie. This is for you.”

There isn’t any hesitation when Eddie nods. Slow, but sure. “I know I want to. But are _you_ sure? I mean, you’re going to be a part of this too, Rich, and you know what you’re going to be getting into.” He pauses, pinches the bridge of his nose, then locks his gaze to Richie, unwavering, “And this isn’t exactly something like, sexy, either. You know. It’s not like, fucking – whatever the hell people get up to these days. I’m just going to be eating. Like, that’s it. That’s all she wrote. It’s just food. And I’m probably going to be sleeping immediately afterward too.”

“Wow, way to hype it up.” Richie deadpans, “You ever think of being a spokesperson?”

Eddie wordlessly throws his arms out, clearly reading _what else do you want from me_? “I’m just telling you, that’s it.”

Richie juts out his bottom lip, nodding a little to himself, “Okay. Well, one thing we can be sure of is that this isn’t _just_ eating. And _yes_ , I’m sure. This may be new for me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try my best in making you feel good. And yeah, it’s weird. Kinks can be fucking weird, but you’re not hurting anyone or whatever. So, if you want me to be, I can be your feeder.” From their close proximity, Richie can see the way Eddie’s eyes widen at the word, which he had definitely not told Richie – Richie kept seeing it and took a shot in the dark with actually saying it out loud. He gives Eddie’s hands a reassuring squeeze, “Do you capishe?

He can almost see the way Eddie’s shoulders relax, “Yeah- yeah I capishe. Thanks, Rich.”

In return, Richie closes the distance between them and presses a slew of kisses to Eddie’s face; three on his cheeks, another above his eyebrow and one on the end of his nose, followed by a longer one pressed to his lips. When they pull apart, Richie lays a reassuring hand on Eddie’s shoulder, “Just do your thing, Eds. I’ll be facing away from you. If you want to continue, just let me know.” Eddie nods. “Go shower and change into something more comfortable and get what you want. I’ll put on a movie.”

Eddie looks like he doesn’t believe this is actually happening. There’s a small smile on his face, “Okay.”

As soon as Eddie walks off down the hallway to the bedroom, Richie turns towards the bags to finally start taking everything out one at a time; it’s all still nice and warm, the insulation of the bags keeping everything toasty. He carefully brings each container into the living room to set on their coffee table, trying to arrange it in a way to be easily accessible – it was glass, and he had to be careful with setting the plates down. It’s a lot of food, definitely. More than enough to last them at least a couple days, if needed.

While he has a pretty good idea of what Eddie’s limit actually is, he’s certain they’re not going to hit it tonight. He won’t lie, he’s very much curious as to what’s actually going to happen. The most adventurous he’d been was back in college when a brief fling wanted to tie him up. He’d ended up bailing, embarrassingly enough, telling him some excuse about a family emergency before taking off and never looking back. But he wanted to do this. He was ready for it. He wanted to see first hand what exactly this did to Eddie.

Richie clicks on a movie, puts together a plate, and waits.

Richie tries to focus on the movie. God, he tries, but he finds his ears constantly straining to hear behind him, perking up at every little sound. There isn’t much to hear, bedside the squeak of leather when Eddie shifts in their plushy recliner and the subtle sounds of his chewing. And it’s just distracting enough that it’s all he can focus on instead of the movie that’s already a good twenty minutes in – and if you’d asked him what had happened in those first twenty minutes, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. He’s hardly even touched his own supper, his plate left abandoned on the coffee table after he’d only eaten one slice. He picks up another slice in an attempt to look at though he hasn’t been solely focused on the sounds of Eddie eating – he’s suspected that Eddie’s noticed the way he’s frozen in place, how he hasn’t touched his supper. But he thankfully hasn’t pointed it out or Richie is going to be the one stumbling over his words.

And he really doesn’t know why he’s so nervous all of a sudden. It’s just _eating_ , just like Eddie said it’d be. There isn’t anything inherently sexual about the situation as far as he can tell and Richie has a brief moment where he thinks that maybe Eddie is fucking with him. It’s just _too_ normal. He hasn’t been able to concentrate for the past twenty minutes because he’s just been waiting for _something, anything_ to happen.

He goes to bring the slice to his mouth just as Eddie lets slip a pleasured sigh, which is immediately followed by an exaggeratedly loud clear of the throat, as if trying to put a vocal barrier between the two sounds to distract from the former. But Richie’d heard, clear as day, that Eddie had _moaned_. He’d never moaned while eating, not while sober anyway. There’d been a couple times where Eddie’d let loose, wine-drunk, loose lipped and relaxed, where his appetite took on something fierce and ravenous. Richie hadn’t even thought twice about it when it happened, thought it was funny that a store-bought pasty could pull a moan from his throat – and gotten good use out of his ‘ _Need some time alone with that?’_ bit. But in his current situation, it’s anything _but_ funny. It’s such an unexpected sound that Richie feels it vibrate down his back and settle low and thickly in his gut.

Fuck, there’s absolutely no way he’s going to be able to focus on anything other than Eddie. The voices and music that resonates from their surround sound clumps together like static.

He chances a look, just barely turning his head so that he can see Eddie out of his peripherals. He isn’t even looking at the TV, gazing off towards the windows where the blinds have been half-drawn, eyes held to the slight part in the curtains framing the muddled skyline. He looks lost in thought, though from the way his cheeks hold that faint flush, Richie can guess what was on his mind. 

Richie drinks in the view of him. Eddie’s now dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and, judging by the size, one of Richie’s shirts – by the stretched-out collar, it must be one of the older ones. He’s chosen not to pop out the foot-rest, leaned back into the mass of decorative pillows with his plate precariously balanced on his thighs. His appetizers are long gone, now replaced with three slices of pizza arranged into a leaning tower – from a quick glance to the box Richie can see three other slices, which means he’s about two slices in. With a hand balanced under his chin to catch any falling toppings, Eddie continues to eat, cheeks adorably puffing with large mouthfuls as he devours the slice in his hand like a starved man. It’s almost mesmerizing in a way, Richie can’t take his eyes away from the way Eddie’s demeanor has changed, how he hungrily jams the pizza into his mouth in order to fit as much as he can. He even takes his time to stick his greasy fingers into his mouth to suck them clean, despite the napkins placed on the end table to his immediate left. After Eddie swallows down the final bite of the second slice, a satisfied sigh is breathed out.

To the outside eye, it still would appear that Eddie is simply only enjoying his supper – if not a little enthusiastically. Though now that he knows that Eddie takes a pleasure in eating, he sees him in an entirely new light. He doesn’t think Eddie would want to go all-out during their little test run. He understands that eating by yourself in private and having your partner – who had only just recently discovered the kink – feed you are two completely different situations. He really is happy to just sit back and observe, content with just having Eddie trust him enough to be able to indulge himself in front of him.

“Can you get me something to drink, Rich?” Eddie finally, _finally_ speaks and Richie jolts at being addressed after half an hour of silence. Eddie is pointedly looking down at the food in his lap, avoiding Richie’s gaze as he plucks off a good portion of toppings from the top-most slice between his thumb, middle and forefinger and pops it into his mouth – Richie locks on to the way Eddie sticks his tongue out in order to catch it, followed by the way it swipes out to drag across his bottom lip to catch a stray globule of sauce after he’s swallowed. Richie’s brain short-circuits thinking about that tongue licking a stripe up his throat. 

“Yep! No problem!” He jumps at the opportunity to take a walk around and breathe a bit, beginning to feel a little restless from just sitting in one spot in total silence. He nearly vaults over the back of the couch in his haste to get up.

From his standpoint in the kitchen, he can see Eddie across the apartment in the living room, but he’s still out of his line of vision. The drinks sit abandoned on the counter – he’d been so focused on setting the food out he’d forgotten to bring them along. He doesn’t want to keep Eddie waiting long, but he takes a couple moments to scrub a hand through his hair and shake out his arms, gathering his bearings. He still doesn’t quite understand, hasn’t seen enough to have an actual opinion on it as of yet. But as far as he can tell, Eddie looks to be enjoying himself – looking more relaxed than he’d had in a while, actually – and right now, that’s all that matters.

When Richie returns with a 2 litre of Pepsi and a glass, Eddie puts down the slice he’d taken a few big bites out of to take the bottle and unscrew the cap with a satisfying hiss of air. Richie thinks he’s going to ask for the glass, and is thoroughly surprised when Eddie lifts the bottle to his lips and tilts his head back, revealing the very delicious column of his throat as he starts gulping down the pop. Richie’s own throat grows dry at the sight of Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobbing, staring open-mouthed as Eddie pounds back seven full swallows without breaking for air.

On the eighth swallow, Eddie groans lowly around the lip of the bottle and finally pulls off, taking in deep breaths before he lets out an unexpected hiccup. His face colours instantly, handing off the bottle to Richie so that he can push his fist to his mouth. He gets that little pinch to his eyebrows, squeezing his eyes shut as he swallows an incoming belch, concentrating on keeping down that air that bubbles in his throat. The motion doesn’t look very comfortable – he can’t imagine it feels good, either judging by the slight wince as he does it.

“Hey. You okay, Eddie?” Richie asks. Doesn’t know if this is something he should be worried about.

It takes a couple seconds for Eddie to reply, to make sure no other sounds tumble unexpectedly from his lips. He can only give a small nod. Richie remains rooted to the spot, watching as Eddie splays his free hand across his lower belly. Richie stares, transfixed, as he starts digging his heel in, trying to knead away an ache. Now that his palm is pressed down flat, Richie can make out that there's definitely a little change. There’s only that slight curve, from what he can see at least, looking just barely distended past what he’d felt during their conversation when Eddie’s first told him about the kink. Richie really wishes it wasn’t hidden behind the baggy mess of his own shirt – which, if he were honest, wishes it were anywhere else but on Eddie’s torso.

Then Eddie’s fingers twitch and his hand shifts a couple inches downwards and its then Richie realizes that Eddie is full on _tenting_ in his sweatpants. Richie stares, feeling rooted to the spot, transfixed as Eddie starts to palm himself through the fabric. And all Richie can think is _Eddie really is into this, he wasn’t lying, he’s hard_ on repeat as he stands there, growing hot at the sight of it. He doesn’t even know if he’s supposed to be staring, but he can’t help himself. He’s afraid to look up and see Eddie’s face, because if he sees whatever expression is currently on it, Richie doesn’t know how long he could hold himself together. He just wants to _touch_ , fingers itching with a need to join Eddie’s.

“Do you –” Richie swallows hard, trying to get moisture back into his parched throat, which might as well be a stand in for the Sahara, “Do you need anything else?”

Eddie’s eyes snap open, and the hand at his crotch is yanked away in an instant, like Eddie had forgotten he was there. Though the hand at his mouth remains firmly in place, pressing tighter as he pants into his fist. “No, I’m- I’m good.” His voice comes out husky and Richie once against feels right down his spine. “I’m good, thanks, Rich.” He looks almost ashamed about being caught, which Richie doesn’t really understand. He’s seen Eddie jerk off many times before, so why would this time be any different? Did Eddie think Richie would be turned off at him getting turned on?

There’s a lot of things Richie wants to say _. I’ve seen you jerk it a million times so why hold back now? It’s okay, I’m not weirded out, I’m not going to bail. You honestly looked so hot just then I felt like I wanted to faint. Can I please touch you; Eddie I am dying to touch you. I want to get my hands over every single inch of you and show you just how much I love you._

He settles with “Can I sit with you?” in a rush of air. He _really_ doesn’t want to go back to the couch.

Eddie looks almost surprised that that’s what Richie had asked, like he’d been expecting something else. His eyes search Richie’s, lowering his hand away from his mouth as he does so. The expression soon gives way to relief, though, and he nods, slow but sure. “Yeah, please –” He gestures to the empty space between himself and the coffee table. “Sit.”

Richie doesn’t have to be told twice. He tosses a couple slices of pizza onto his place, sets it on the coffee table closest to him and all but collapses onto the cushy, plush carpet directly in front of Eddie’s legs, yanking the ottoman – which had been pushed just out of the way so that no one would trip over it – closer by the storage handle so that he could use it as an armrest. He makes himself comfortable, settling his back up against Eddie’s calves, stretching his long legs out underneath the coffee table. He’s a tactile person, and he usually has his hands on Eddie whenever possible – cuddled close on the couch with a hand on his knee, a ruffle of the hair to rile him up, an arm slung around his shoulder to pull him down to kiss his temple – so feeling the warmth seep into his back from Eddie is a gentle comfort.

Eddie picks up from where he left off and Richie finally gets back to his own supper. They fall into a laid-back silence. Eddie doesn’t seem bothered by Richie’s presence because Richie can hear him digging into his pizza with the same gusto as before.

Time passes. Richie hears the crusts of the fourth and fifth pieces get tossed back into the box to join the others – which Richie thinks is a sin because the crusts can sometimes be the _best part_. And he can’t help but grow a little worried, too. He doesn’t know what the extent of Eddie’s appetite has grown too, but he’s very clearly starting to slow down. Taking longer breaks between bites as he starts working his way through the sixth piece. Does he say something? He trusts Eddie to know what his limits are and to stop when he hits them, but he still gets a little concerned. Even with the weight gain over the course of the fourth months, Eddie’s still a pretty small guy – If Richie had to hazard a guess, he’d say around 185 – so the food portions he’s eating seems like just a little too much.

He’s broken out of his thoughts by the sound of the sixth crust hitting the box and the slight jostle from behind him as Eddie shifts in the recliner with a throaty grunt. “Urgh, fuck, I’m getting full. I can’t get comfortable.” His breathing has gotten a little heavier, the substantial meal weighing heavy in his gut and making him lethargic. When he goes to shift again, his stomach noisily disagrees with the movement, angrily churning and making it so Eddie has to stifle another belch that’s coaxed up.

Richie remains where he is, not knowing what to do. _I’ve never heard his stomach make noise like that before. Is it supposed to sound like that? Am I supposed to say something–_

There’s a huff from above him, “Richie, I want you up here.”

Richie shuffles around so that he’s gazing up at Eddie from the floor with his hands braced on Eddie’s knees – and has to keep his thoughts clean so that he can concentrate – leveling Eddie with a look, “As long as you’re sure, Eds, because let me tell you, I can wait however– ”

“I’m as sure as I was when I made the decision to move in with you,” Eddie interrupts seriously, “I am _so_ sure right now.” He lets out a pitched laugh, sharp, with a quirk of his lips that make his dimples more prominent, “Never been so sure in my life, Richie.”

That’s all Richie needs to hear. He stands, pulling the ottoman a foot closer, as close as he can to the recliner without crushing Eddie’s calves in-between, and heavily plops down onto it. He doesn’t have to wait long for Eddie to make the first move, because as soon as Richie is comfortable, Eddie – who’d been looking like he was waiting for Richie’s eyes on him – leans back, sighs, then loosens his lounge pants so that he can tug the waistband down, just so, so that the band is now sitting just underneath his belly to give it a bit more room. And Eddie, who’s looking just a bit more self-assured, goes out of his way to slightly tug up the hem of his shirt, giving Richie a small tease of tanned skin and a smattering of hair and freckles around his navel. And _now_ Richie can see an obvious change, staring open-mouthed at the way Eddie’s stomach bulges outward once it’s free from the tight waistband. There’s a reddened indent left behind from where the waistband previously sat, which Eddie begins to massage gently with broad strokes. Richie’s fingers once again twitch with the longing to touch, wish it that was his hands touching, kneading, exploring Eddie’s middle. He wants to know what it feels like, wants to feel what Eddie feels.

“Fuck, Eddie, I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?” Richie blurts and Eddie barely gets through his first nod before he surges forward to connect their lips, large hands framing Eddie’s face as he took in the way Eddie’s soft lips felt against his own wanting so desperately convey _I love you, I love you, I love every part of you._ He eases Eddie forward, towards himself and off the recliner and Eddie moves easily, fingers of one hand tangling in Richie’s hair while the other grips his shoulder, determined not to break their position apart as he’s moved. Though he accidentally tugs on a cluster of curls when he’s heaved up onto Richie’s thighs and Richie feels a sharp jolt ooze down his spine at the sensation. And it’s a welcome weight on Richie’s thighs – Eddie is heavy, but not enough to crush, it’s more grounding – as Eddie wraps his legs around Richie’s waist. Richie retaliates the earlier hair pull with a slight nip on Eddie’s bottom lip, which earns him another tug of his curls with a sharp intake of breath.

Richie feels Eddie’s hand drop from his shoulder and feels it reappear closing around his wrist. “Touch me, Rich. I want your hands on me.” Richie is beside himself, letting Eddie remove Richie’s hand from where it was cupping his cheek in order to direct it down to his doughy waist. The words combined with the feel of Eddie’s steadying hand holding Richie’s hand in place sends another electrifying tingle down his back and he digs his fingers in on reflex, harder than he’d intended, grasping Eddie’s love handle. And to say it’s a surprise when Eddie moans into his mouth is an understatement, as Richie hadn’t expected Eddie to like being squeezed like that – which he files away for later use. Eddie’s grip tightens on Richie’s wrist and Richie can just feel Eddie’s want, how he wants to touch himself, using Richie’s hand as an anchor, holding himself back again.

Richie pulls away, only just barely, gazing into Eddie’s eyes. His voice is rough when he speaks. “Tell me – tell me what you like about this."

Eddie tucked his face into the crook of Richie’s neck, letting out a small shudder, breath ghosting hot on the exposed skin of his collarbone.

And for a moment Richie thinks he isn’t going to say, too self-conscious, but to his surprise, Eddie speaks.

“I like being able to eat what I want. That it’s my choice and no one else’s.” he breathes out, “I – fuck, I like the way it _feels_. To overindulge because I want to. I _like_ being greedy, Richie. I’ve spent so – so fucking long denying myself because – because the fear of getting sick was like a vice around my fucking throat.” He holds to Richie, tighter. Richie expects crescent shaped bruises on his biceps. “And I’m not that person anymore. I’m not, and I never will be again. I know my own limits. I make sure that whenever I do this, I listen to my body.” .” Eddie releases his grip on Richie’s arms in order to slip his arms around Richie’s neck, pulling him closer. Richie can feel the hard bloat of Eddie’s stomach pressing up against his own. “Fuck, Richie, I want this. I want this so bad. It feels so _good_ to let go.” 

“Hey, you can have it,” Richie says, “You can have it, Eddie. Talk to me. Tell me everything you feel comfortable with telling me.”

“It started in college.” Eddie sags in Richie’s hold, as if the weight of keeping it a secret was finally dislodged from his shoulders. “I didn’t get to go until I was twenty-two because I was working multiple jobs in order to save up. And I told myself that when I finally got there, that I would get out there, make friends, party, rebel, do some stupid shit once I had the freedom to do it – no tattoos, though, because I wasn’t feeling _that_ rebellious. So, I did. And I chose food as my starting point. Just, whatever the fuck I could get my hands on, to show that I could eat and not get sick from it, to prove to – to prove that I could.”

Richie remains silent as Eddie talks. He thinks about how long Eddie’s been keeping this to himself. He’d caught on quickly that Eddie’d had in fact lied about the origin of his thing, but he couldn’t blame Eddie about being embarrassed about it and try to soften the ‘blow’ of the confession by making it seem like he’d just developed it. The fact that its been with him this entire time must’ve come with its own set of challenges. How bizarre it must’ve felt to discover that about himself.

“I’m, uh, sorry for lying about when it started. I kind of panicked? Like, I didn’t want to admit that it’s been a part of me for so long.” He sounds ashamed. Richie can feel the heat emanating from his face. “It was a weird discovery. I already had that inkling that something was up because I’d get that _feeling_ when I was about to overdo it. And then during a party, a friend of a friend tried to feed me a cupcake -just your regular teasing- and I had to leave like three hours early with my sweater balled up against my dick to hide the fact that it got me hard. And the worst part was I didn’t understand _why_ it turned me on. I couldn’t exactly look this shit up on a school computer. And a part of me didn’t even _want_ to know. So, I just let it happen. I’d jerk off at three in the morning with a cold bag of McDonald's just because I didn’t want anyone hearing a microwave go off. And _no_ , Richie, I didn’t have a roommate. They were private rooms.”

Richie was in fact going to make a joke about roommates.

“I stopped everything when I met Myra, though.” There’s a slight shrug in Eddie’s shoulders, “I’d kept it a secret from her too, because it was definitely not something I was going to share with the woman I’d just started dating.” A heavy grimace at the memory. “She found out eventually. They had a box of donuts in the break room at work. The sign said to take one, but _that_ part of me wanted more. And I took another and pretended it was my first. which of course wasn’t enough, so I took another. And the thrill of taking more than I needed –fuck, that greedy part of me that needed to be satisfied. I was able to calm myself down – because obviously I was at _work_ – but as soon as I was done, I went to the nearest café and bought myself a half a dozen and ate them all in the car.” The thought of Eddie alone in his car and inhaling a box of donuts with fingers coated in a sticky, sugary glaze and losing himself to the indulgence is quite an image. “So yeah, she saw the receipt in the garbage. And she wouldn’t stop telling me how I could rupture my stomach, among what _other_ things that could happen. And I got scared, so I just - just stopped cold turkey. And the older I got, the easier it was to just focus on something else until the urges passed, until I ended up forgetting about it completely. And then I got the call from Mike and little pieces started coming back, and then at the restaurant, I – I thought about it. I mean, I was surrounded by food, I get it, but I would’ve rather my subconscious _not_ haphazardly toss me one of my most inappropriate memories. So, I got drunk, and well, you know.”

Richie wishes it could've been different. Eddie didn't deserve to be scared away from something that made him feel good. Because as far as Richie knew – and just knowing who Eddie was as a person – Eddie was careful about it. He kept in shape – and he was gaining a little weight, but that was to be expected with middle age and a slowing of the metabolism. He ran in the mornings, and did his work-outs every weekend. He continued to eat healthy, but treated himself, too. And he’d probably ended up researching the kink later on in life, to make sure he was staying safe about it. And as long as Eddie was sure of his decisions, why try and tell him any different – or worse, convince him to think differently?

“Oh, yeah, you were hammered,” Richie says, because he didn’t want to dredge up a past Eddie probably didn’t want to talk about. “You challenged everybody to an arm-wrestling match and lost to everyone but Bill.”

“It feels good to finally tell you,” Eddie admits, “Because let me tell you that there had been a lot of times where I was ready to blurt everything on the basis that I was going to lose my fucking mind if you so much as looked at my stomach. And you would do this _thing_ where you would pat my stomach after a big meal, tell a joke, offer me something to make me feel better and then leave. You did it every. Single. Time, Richie. It drove me up the fucking wall! Especially since I couldn't say anything!"

Richie wracks his brain, trying to think of the specific moments Eddie is talking about. “Wow, every time?” He only remembers a couple times at most, during their monthly get-togethers. Had he started doing it without even realizing? It definitely sounded like something he would absentmindedly do. Eddie’s belly was like a new target – not the finest analogy – something that Richie subconsciously honed in on because it was something new, something that he hadn’t touched before. And Richie wasn’t going to lie, he liked the way Eddie’s stomach felt under his fingers, soft, sometimes firm depending if he'd just eaten, so he guessed his body just wanted more of that, craved the sensation. “Huh, guess I did.” He gives Eddie’s love handle another squeeze, “Even without realizing it, I can’t keep my hands off of you.”

And then, he remembers what they’re doing there. What this is all about. He gets himself back in the zone. “Tell me something else?” His hand slips down to Eddie’s ass, grasping a handful; its fuller, plenty of give beneath his fingers with an enticing jiggle when he gives it a playful smack, which makes Eddie's spine arch and his stomach press all the more into Richie's torso - something that's making Richie feel a lot of things at once. He lets his mind wander, only for a moment, thinking about what it would look like if Eddie squeezed into his old running outfit, the black pair of shorts with the red stripe and the grey tank top that he’d retired once they no longer properly fit. “Whatever you want, Eddie.” Eddie keeps his face tucked into Richie’s neck, which is completely okay; Richie’s just glad Eddie is finally talking.

“When you were in Texas back in September, I treated myself to dinner.”

Richie remembers that. It was Eddie had just gotten hired at some local insurance firm a week before and didn’t want to to take time off so early into his job. It was first time since moving in with him that Eddie didn’t join him for an out-of-state show, and they’d called each other every night, talking on the phone for hours and just generally shooting the shit. He’d gotten so used to going to sleep curled up against Eddie’s back that it made falling asleep in the lonesome hotel suite all the much harder, especially paired with the fucked-up nightmares caused by the Deadlights that woke him up at odd hours into the night, desperately needing to hear Eddie’s voice. As much as he hated waking Eddie up at 3am with a phone call, he knew that Eddie genuinely didn’t mind. Eddie also suffered from nightmares, gasping awake and throwing away the covers to inspect the scar on his waist, shaking hands grasping at it as if he’d expected it to be torn back open. They’d always be there for each other, to assure that they were fine, everything was fine. 

“I went to a buffet,” Eddie continues, “Because I’d hadn’t gone since college, and I wanted to try getting out of my comfort zone. You always hear those horror stories about the sneeze guards not actually doing their jobs or how people just stick their hands all over the food, or they scoop some out so they can take a whiff of it and then _put it_ _back_. But I said fuck it, and I went because I wasn’t going to let it control me anymore. And you know what, I enjoyed myself!” Eddie laughs, proud of himself; Richie can feel his smile against his collarbone. “And since it was way back when I was reacquainting with the culinary world, it was like experiencing everything for the first time all over again - really made me never want to look at another quinoa bean for as long as I fucking lived. And I couldn’t help myself because everything tasted so good and if I could’ve, I would’ve gone through the entire menu.” He laughs again, a little flustered, “But I could only get through two and a half plates before I had to stop, since I wasn’t exactly used to larger meals at that point. I didn’t even mean for it to get out of hand, I just started eating, and I didn’t stop until I couldn’t eat anymore. Which I don’t recommend by the way. Felt like a fucking walk of shame on my way out.”

Once again, Richie’s mind helpfully supplies the imagery of Eddie sitting by himself tucked away in the corner of some nameless buffet, surrounded by licked clean plates and surreptitiously rubbing at a heavily distended stomach that strained at the front of his dress shirt – that absolutely couldn’t hold another bite even if he’d wanted it to, and Eddie really had wanted it to. And to be completely honest, it makes Richie, well, hot around the collar. The idea of Eddie blissed out on food, surrounded by strangers that could see him, working his way through plate after plate and not caring who saw. It makes Richie wish he could’ve been there. To see Eddie’s eyes light up at every new flavour he particularly liked. Wished that he could’ve been there to lay a hand on Eddie’s hip while in line so that everyone knew that they were there together. Wanted to shield him from prying eyes once he hit his limit, to drive him home and lay him down, to massage the ache away and pamper him like he deserved to be pampered.

Richie tunes back in and Eddie’s still going.

“– so inappropriate! And driving home was an absolutely nightmare because all I wanted to do was go home and crash on the first, semi-comfortable object that I saw, but it’s like some people drive that they’ve never so much as looked at a car. Like they got their licence from a fucking cereal box!” He takes a deep breath as Richie pats his back, chuckling. Eddie lowers his voice back down, and when he blows a puff of air, it tickles Richie’s throat and sends goosebumps travelling up his arms. “Remember when you called me that night and you thought I was in the middle of a panic attack because I was breathing so hard? Well, now you know. That’s the reason.”

“And I was worried about, you little asshole. I was ready to get on a plane at eleven at night to meet you at the fucking hospital.”

“I was so not going to tell you the real reason and you know it.”

“Uh, you literally could have,” Richie insists, and pitches his voice into something akin to Eddie’s, “Just went ham at a buffet, all good down here.” He grins when Eddie laughs into his neck. Back in his normal tone, he adds, “One more thing?”

Eddie finally pulls back, shifting to the end of Richie’s knees so that he can look him in the eye. Richie mourns the loss of the warmth. “The night of my birthday. You got into bed with me, and you – you were so tired you could barely speak – you slipped an arm around my stomach and you noticed that it was – well, you said ‘ _oh, where’d this come from_ ’ and then _passed out_.” The creases are deepening on Eddie’s forehead, and when his mouth downturns, it stretches his scar with the movement, “All you did was make a completely normal observation, and I – I fuckin' jerked off to it. And after I did it, the guilt wouldn't let me sleep anywhere near you so I slept on the couch. And then I tried to cover up that I was on the couch by making you coffee at five in the morning. Which, can I say, has been weighing on my mind since September. So uh, that’s on the table now.”

Honestly, Richie couldn’t care less that’s what happened. Hell, the fact that he’d unwinded Eddie just by a regular old comment is something he’s filing away for later. He wonders just how many offhanded things he’d said that made Eddie feel that way. “I mean, if it’s honestly hour I’ve jerked it to you in your running shorts on multiple occasions. The grey ones where they’re just short enough that you can see the-" He flaps his hand as he tries to remember the word, "Whatever they are underneath. Drives me fucking wild, man.”

“They’re compression shorts. And the grey ones aren’t sexy? Like at all?”

“It’s more because you’re the one wearing them.” Richie gently flattens a hand along Eddie’s hip, thumb smoothing over the slight indent of the scar. “So, you like when I say stuff like that, huh? The touches too? Do you like this?” He gently digs his fingers in, cupping a handful of love handle, feeling Eddie's soft skin fill his palm; warm to the touch. “Tell me what you like.”

Eddie shudders at the sensation as a shaky breath escapes him, then shifts to nervously scrub the back of his neck, the action almost causing him to lose his balance atop Richie’s thighs before Richie steadies him around the waist with a firm hand. “I- ah, don’t know? I really like when you touch me. And just-" he lowers his voice, just a tad, "– maybe-maybe compliment me on how much I can eat? Or how big I look afterwards? I don’t know. Something along those lines.”

“Okay,” Richie’s nodding, “Yeah, okay, Eds. Can do. Easy-peasy,”

Eddie suddenly squirms and before Richie can tell him to sit still, he then hurriedly stands into a stretch, pulling his arms over his head. Richie mourns the loss of Eddie’s weight on his thighs immediately, having felt secure in a way he could never exactly explain when Eddie was on top of him; like some kind of weighted blanket. Following the stretch, Eddie puts his arm behind his back with his other hand gripping the top of his head, and before Richie can ask what he’s doing, Eddie pulls his head down, slowly, to his shoulder until Richie can hear a faint little pop from his neck. And Eddie just about moans, breath coming out in a drawn-out sigh. When he’s satisfied with the stretch, he sinks back down to the recliner instead back to Richie, stretching his legs out on either side of the ottoman to get the blood properly flowing again.

And he looks at Richie for all of two seconds before he says, “So, uh, Beverly was the one who convinced me to tell you about this.” Delivered without any build-up or fanfare.

Richie is so shocked at the revelation that Beverly knew before he did that it grinds every other thought to an immediate halt. “Wait, _Beverly_ knows?” Richie squawks, indigent, “You told Beverly before me? When did this happen?”

Eddie lifts a hand to stop him, “Okay, hold on, let me just say that I didn’t exactly _mean_ to do it. It just kinda happened.” Eddie’s lips fall into a small pout before he switches up his facial expression, falling into something a little more neutral as he backtracks through his memories. As he does this, his right eye squints completely shut, a little trait Richie’d noticed he’d do when deep in thought. Richie think’s its borderline illegal how cute Eddie can be without even thinking about it. “It was during Thanksgiving, after the, uh, incident.” _When you saw me laid out on the bed just about moaning over a full stomach_. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d go for a midnight snack,” he waves his hand, “Didn’t want to make noise so I just ate leftovers from the tin. And _of course_ , not even five minutes in, Beverly comes walking in to check on the stove and catches me hiding behind the island with an entire pie tin like a discount fucking Borrower.”

As hilarious as the imagery is of that, Richie breezes over it and asks, “Wait, so she said something to you? Did you tell her?"

“It was fine. I mean, she just about booted me in the shoulder, but it was fine! She could tell something was up, so we went out on the deck to talk. She kinda figured it out on her own. I mean, I haven’t exactly done that good a job of hiding it, at least not for the past four months. I guess, subconsciously, I wanted someone to find out? So, we talked about it for a bit – and swapped stories, which I’m not going to tell you – and she made me feel a little better about the whole thing.” A small smile quirks the edges of his lips, and the corners of his eyes crinkle, “Makes me wish I brought it up earlier.”

“In any case, I'm glad I know now at least.” Richie rubs his knuckles gently against Eddie's scarred cheek. It’s times like this Richie is glad for their tight-knit group of friends. They were definitely all closer than most, able to tell each other anything without judgment. And Richie is thanking his lucky stars that Beverly was able to get through to Eddie on this whole thing, to say something, because now that Richie has experienced it first hand, saw the reaction it gave Eddie, its something that looking more and more appealing as it goes on .

Eddie eyes him, “So, you really are... okay with this?”

“Oh! Yeah, man,” Richie says honestly, “I'm really getting into it.”

“So, can we…?’ Eddie trails of and tilts his head back towards the end table with his pizza box on it wordlessly.

Needless to say, Richie is game on.

They reposition themselves into something a little easier to work with, with Eddie on the edge of the recliner and Richie pulling up the ottoman to plop down onto, their knees knocking together. Richie has pulled the end table a smidgen closer, so that he could get to the appetizers and the drinks, on the off-chance Eddie wanted those too. Its still a good amount of food left, definitely more than enough to last at least another day. To be honest, it makes Richie a little nervous. He has to trust Eddie to listen to his limits, to know when to stop. He didn't want him to overdo it, _truly_ overdo it, and hurt himself. The entire point of this was Eddie feeling good about it. 

As Eddie is grabbing the seventh from the box to hand over to Richie, Richie blurts, “Hey, there’s no way I could fuck this up, right?”

Eddie has on that little smile, “Rich, there is literally no way _you_ could fuck this up. _I_ know my limit, and I’ll let you know when I'm done.” He offers the pizza slice to Richie, and he takes it from him, “it’s fine.”

Richie takes Eddie in. the way his hair messily falls across his forehead, the gel he had meticulously put in that morning loosened. How his thick eyelashes frame his stunning doe-eyes. The small smile quirking up his lips, making his dimples more prominent. And there’s been a bit of sauce just under Eddie’s bottom lip that looks so cute cute _cute_! And of course, the way Richie’s shirt is so close to slipping off Eddie’s shoulder. Its time like this Richie is thankful for his broad shoulders and generally wider frame, because even with the weight gain Eddie is still swimming in his clothes.

Richie knows he’s wearing the most lovesick expression on his face right now.

“Okay.” Richie says. The gaze Eddie has on him now is trusting, the earlier worry and anxiety he started this all out with melted away in something more calm, relaxed. He lifts the slice closer, up to Eddie’s lips, “Okay, open up.” Any other time he would’ve been cheeky, slipped in a _here comes the airplane_ bit, but he doesn’t want to ruin this. Though he’s definitely going to slip it in somewhere some other time because he knows exactly the reaction Eddie will give him. 

Eddie's mouth drops open quickly at the order and Richie, after recovering from the action of Eddie responding so quickly to his command, gently eases the slice into Eddie’s waiting mouth, chewing down on the inside of his cheek as he hyper focuses on the way Eddie’s lips close around a mouthful, grease-shiny. After he’s swallowed, he opens his mouth for more without prompt, humming as his eyes slip shut. Understandably, the conversation diminishes to nothing as the two of them fall into a rhythm. Though by now, even with the brief break in between, Eddie's paced is slower still. He isn't eating as quickly, taking smaller bites and breathing growing heavier the fuller his belly becomes. There's a chance he'll be hitting the wall soon, but at least not for a bit. 

For now, Richie enjoys, enthralled with the way Eddie's wet tongue pokes out as he opens his mouth for each offered bite. Richie's kinda obsessed with that tongue, actually. It's always making an appearance in the day to day. Peeking out in order to swipe across the tip of his index finger in order to help him turn a page. Poking out absent-mindlessly as he works on a crossword. Slipping out to run across his lips when the dry air made them chapped and he's misplaced his chapstick. Sometimes his tongue makes longer appearances, like the one time when he's eaten something too spicy and he'd had to air the poor thing out after gulping down a glassful of milk. Dropping his mouth open and letting his tongue loll out over his bottom lip; there'd been a string of drool hanging off the edge that Richie'd watched for a good twenty seconds before Stan began snapping in his face to get his attention. And if he's being honest, he'd had quite a few thoughts here and there about his fingers making their way into Eddie's mouth. And now with this going on, those thoughts have come back in full force - basically plowing him over like a freight train - his mind filling with fantasies of Eddie sucking his fingers clean after Richie hand feeds him. 

Getting to the core of it, of course it could be seen as weird, but hell, after seeing how it affected Eddie, Richie _loves_ weird. Eddie, literally eating out of the palm of his hand. It’s intimate in a way that he’d never considered before. He never thought he’d see food as anything other than a necessity to survive. And he _definitely_ never would’ve thought that Eddie enjoyed eating to the degree that he did. It shows him how far Eddie has come since then, relearning his true self, letting himself just _enjoy_ it without shame. 

When the piece is gone, Eddie goes to reach over for the pop, but winches and sits back when he accidentally leans over on his full stomach. Richie is quick to pour some into a glass and hand it over, which Eddie only gets a few swallows down before he takes a breather, eyebrows pinching as a hiccup involuntarily escapes. He places a hand on his stomach to try and give it a soothing rub, to settle it down. Richie wonders what it’ll feel like it he puts his own hands to Eddie’s stomach, if he would be able to feel it churning under his palms. There’s another wince and Eddie’s face screws up in discomfort, shoulders slightly tensing as he quickly raises a fist to his mouth, swallowing down an oncoming burp. The action doesn’t look very comfortable, but judging from the embarrassed flush on Eddie’s cheeks, he’d been clearly trying to not appear like a slob in front of Richie for their first time experimenting together.

Richie, though, is having none of it because it’s just another one of the common human bodily functions and he truly didn’t care, “Hey, hey. Come on, Eds. You’ve been holding them in all night. You gotta let ‘em out, man.” He’s met with a defiant shake of the head, keeping his fist pressed firmly to his mouth. Richie doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch him yet, so he instead fists at the fabric at his thighs, desperately longing. “If you keep swallowing air it’s just going to bloat you up even more. We got this far, I’m not gunna be turned off by some burping. Like, I really don’t give a shit, I promise.”

Luckily it seems to work, Eddie’s shoulders visibly relaxing. After a few seconds of mulling over some internal thoughts, Eddie finally digs the heel of his hand just above his navel, as if trying to locate the air pocket and prompt the air up. His stomach is vocal, burbling in displeasure as Eddie continues to knead his own tummy like a kitty making dough. It seems to work, when he presses down on the crest of his stomach just under his ribs where it’s the most bloated. There’s another unhappy gurgle that Richie can audibly hear travel up his throat before Eddie finally lets out a, somewhat forced, strained sounding belch, the flush spreading down his neck as he excuses himself.

“Eugh, sorry.” He’s very clearly self-conscious. “That was so fuckin’ gross.”

Richie gives Eddie’s shoulder a supportive rub, putting on a casual air, “I mean, you were a bit weak on the delivery but I’m sure we can work on it. With the proper training, we can turn that measly 4.0 into a booming 9.5 real soon.”

“Asshole,” Eddie huffs, but his lips quirk up into a small smile as the tension seems to melt away, the worry lines that had been denting his forehead smoothing back out.

There’s only one more slice left in the box. One more slice and Eddie would’ve eaten eight entire pieces of pizza. It’s a pretty impressive feat, at least to Richie’s standards it is, who can barely make it to five without feeling nauseous. And the thing is, Richie has come to realize, is that he finds the idea of Eddie having a larger appetite than he does _hot_. Eddie being smaller than he is in height and build somehow being able to put away more food than he ever could, _hot_. It hits him with startling clarity that this is something that he really could get into, and deeply so. He's kinda amazed he didn't realize it earlier with how quickly he's taken to it now. 

So, Richie's officially learned something new about himself. Who knew. 

“One more?” He tries and fails to hide the anticipation in his voice.

Despite looking on all accounts completely stuffed, Eddie nods slowly and opens his mouth for the final slice which Richie is all too eager to raise to his lips. While Eddie looks determined to finish, he's taking his sweet time now, eyes closed and eyebrows pinched as he concentrates on chewing, slight moans slipping out after every swallow. By this point it looks to be a feat, like the simple act of chewing is sapping up the entirety of his energy. Richie has no doubts; he couldn't imagine eating the amount Eddie had and somehow being up and alert. Hell, just the act of _watching_ Eddie sluggishly make his way through his food is making him tired

When they hit the halfway point, Richie tests the waters with some encouragement, “You're doing such an amazing job, Eds. You’re almost there. Just a couple more bites and you’re done.” He reaches out with his free hand to place on Eddie’s knee, giving it a squeeze, “And then we’ll get you into bed. Sound good?” Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t get much of a response, Eddie merely moaning in acknowledgement that he’d heard but saying nothing. He's starting to look pretty out of it, lethargic and tottering on the edge of a hefty food coma. 

Finally, finally, Eddie swallows the final mouthful and sags back in the cushions with a drawn-out, breathy groan. And only the empty box remains.

“Wow,” slips out of Richie’s mouth before he can stop it. It almost feels like a victory, crossing an invisible finish line were the only rewards were pizza and a very full stomach. There are still some appetizers left here and there, but he can only assume they’ll be stored in the fridge for another day. “You’re done?”

Eddie weakly groans again as he’s back to rubbing his stomach, which Richie can audibly hear churning as it struggles to digest the heavy amount of dough and cheese packing into it. “Uh-huh. Done.” He’s moving his hand languidly, eyes slipping shut on their own accord, rubbing in an uncoordinated pattern as he tries to sleepily massage away any aches. Richie stares longingly, wanting to touch.

“How do you feel?” he asks, trying not to sound too concerned, because again, eight entire slices of pizza were currently packed inside Eddie’s grumbling stomach.

“Good.” Eddie's voice is fading off, "Really good."

“Good. That’s good.” Richie echoes.

As Eddie is busy with trying to calm his stomach, Richie leaves, only for a moment, to wet some napkins so that he could use them to wipe Eddie’s face clean of remaining sauce and grease. Any other time Richie had tried that -and there’d been a couple - Eddie was known to miss with the napkin when he wiped his face after food- he would have scathingly refused with heated cheeks and a swat of the hand. Any while it was just simple teasing then, it takes on an entirely new air in present time as Eddie simply hums in gratitude and lifts up his chin so that Richie can cradle his cheek as he lightly dabs at his bottom lip with the napkin. While Eddie hated to be taken care of in the everyday scenario, this was something different. Eddie let his walls come down a little more, let himself be vulnerable.

The napkins are tossed onto the table to be worried about later.

“You want to go to the bedroom? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Eddie shakes his head and tiredly opens his eyes to look up at Richie, before shutting them again and groaning, “Can’t move. Feels like I swallowed a fucking bowling ball.”

“And it looks like you did, too.” Richie says in amazement. Eddie stomach is filled with a lot of dough, there’s no way it isn’t weighing him down. And he doesn’t exactly know what to say in times like this so he tries something he hopes Eddie would like, “You can uh, you can really pack it away, man. I mean, its pretty impressive with how much you ate.” Using Eddie’s words from earlier as a jump start. “It was kinda hot actually? Yeah, you- you did really good. I’m proud of you.” Stumbling over his words like he didn't entertain on stage for a living.

But Eddie reacts none-the-less, Richie’s words having their desired effect as Eddie’s posture goes rigid and his hand stills on his belly, screwing his eyes even tighter shut. “Fuck, Rich,” he breathes, “This is so embarrassing.” He’s clearly fighting with himself not to give in and start palming at his dick again, still too ashamed to go all the way and pleasure himself that way in front of Richie, despite -still very obviously- wanting to. Instead, he takes a moment to compose himself, sucking in a couple deep breathes as he tries to relax. As much as Richie wishes he wouldn't hold himself back, he still feels quite a victory that he could do that with only his voice. And even though it was a mess of a first attempt at this new kind of dirty talk, he still checks it off as a win.

Eddie collapses backwards into the throw pillows, blowing out a hard breath as he shoves his palms into his eyes, “Fuck,” he says again, with feeling. Then he pauses, sucks in a deep breath and holds it before blurting out, resolute, “Touch my stomach.”

And in any other context the sentence is a simple statement, which Richie wouldn’t blink twice at upon hearing. Now, he'll never be able to hear the word _stomach_ or any of its relating words without thinking of Eddie. 

Richie gently pushes up Eddie’s shirt so that it’s bunching under his pecs, finally giving him an unobstructed view of Eddie’s belly. And _whoa_ , it’s bigger than Richie expected it to be, distended in a way Richie has never seen on him before, even during Thanksgiving, rounding out from his torso like he really had swallowed a bowling ball. It’s packed to the absolute brim, heaving as Eddie takes in deep breaths. Richie hands ghost over Eddie’s skin, ghosts over the scar left on his waist, Eddie watching him with a solid gaze the entire time, eyes wide, like he truly can’t believe this is happening. Richie’s hands go lower and sees them: narrow, pink stretchmarks, up Eddie’s love handles and around his navel. The first time Richie had pointed them out during a lazy morning-after, back when they first started appearing, Eddie had flushed a deep red. There’s more now, and there will only continue to be more. He gently smooths his thumb over-top of an older mark on his hip.

“Show me where.” Richie’s voice is filled with want, overcome with the want to touch, “Show me where you want me to touch you.”

Eddie snaps out of his staring and takes hold of Richie's hand, “Here.” he says softly, and places it to the right of his navel, flattening his palm out by pressing down with his own. Richie takes in the way their hands look pressed together like that, Eddie’s tanned, slender fingers and somewhat veiny hand, against Richie's thicker one, covered with hair with a scarred pinky knuckle. With his palm digging in just-so, Richie can feel the extent of the bloat, how firm it is. That this is a truly filled belly with no more room in it for anything else. 

“Like this,” Eddie continues softly and begins to direct him, guiding his hands to rub in slow, gentle motions. Richie is careful not to put too much pressure on it, treating it as precious cargo as he sweeps his large palms overt the expanse of it. And now, finally, with Richie's hands on his belly, he can feel it vibrating underneath his palms as it digests. It’s kinda thrilling, how intimate this is. Eddie let out a soft sigh, words sounding slightly slurred together as he begins the descent to Snoozeville, "Feels so good, Rich. Jus' like that."

Richie's other hand joins in on Eddie's stomach and Eddie takes it as his cue to lean back with a content hum, to let Richie explore to his hearts content. He reclines as far as he can go and raises his right arm to languidly drape over his eyes while the other rests protectively over the crest of his stomach. Richie starts to massage, alternating between sweeping the sides of his belly or kneading just under his navel, like he'd watched Eddie do earlier. By the way Eddie's breathing starts to level out as he slips further into sleep, it looks to be doing the job. Careful, not to push too hard, Richie continues his gentle movements, being as gentle as he can not to wake him. 

As he strokes up and down Eddie's love handles, he considers it a successful first-time experiment. He’s happy, and Eddie’s happy, and that’s all Richie wanted. And truthfully, Richie kinda wants more of it, something he would do again if Eddie ever asked. He doesn’t want to get too ahead of himself, but he lets himself think briefly of all the possible combinations. It didn’t always have to be take-out, he knows. It could be a pleasant, home-cooked meal, instead. Eddie isn't that much of a take-out guy, so if they ever did do this again, maybe he could experiment in the kitchen. He isn’t much of a cook himself, but he’d always try. 

He moves his hand lower to slowly trace a finger around Eddie's navel, lightly teasing his fingernail against his flushed skin and downy hair. Usually, Eddie is ticklish around that specific area, but as he continues around and around the rim with his nail, he doesn't even so much as shift an inch as he slumbers. Richie continues as he is, listening as Eddie begins to snore from underneath his arm. "Hey, Eds. Love you."

There's no reply, but he knows well enough. 

When Eddie’s watch beeps fourteen minutes later, signalling 9PM, Richie decides that it’s time to move to the bedroom. As much as he doesn’t want to wake him up, their memory foam is calling them and Eddie would cringe at the idea of falling asleep in a recliner. It would be hell on his neck if he did. 

“Hey, up and at ‘em, we’re going to bed.” Richie pats Eddie gently on the cheek a couple times until his eyes blearily blink open, staring Richie down with a confused, half lidded gaze. Richie just laughs as he stands, offering a hand, "C’mon, you’re gunna feel like shit in the morning if you sleep out here.”

Eddie rubs his eyes, blinks again, then tries to sit up before he remembers exactly why he is where he is, staring down at his stomach. A moment passes before Eddie tries to get up off the chair, but with the recliner being in it's reclined state, he has to push himself forward in order to scoot off the edge. With the heavy mass in his gut, he barely makes it upright, struggling to pull himself forward without putting pressure on his taxed stomach. On the third try, Richie steps in to help out and hooks both hands under Eddie's armpits and hauls him directly to his feet, a hand steady on his hip to help make sure Eddie catches his footing. There's a moment where they almost topple, with Richie unused to handling Eddie's extra weight, and Eddie only firing at half cylinders and barely able to keep his eyes open. Though they recover, and Richie tucks Eddie into his side, wrapping his arm fully around his waist to keep him upright.

Its slow moving, but eventually the two of them enter their bedroom. Eddie just about collapses into the mattress, wincing as the contents in his stomach are jostled, then lowers himself onto his side.

Richie rushes to their closet to grab Eddie's heated blanket. He’s probably never moved so fast in his life, hurriedly straightening it out over top Eddie, plugging it in and setting the timer to ten minutes all in record time. He sits down on the edge of the bed, just shy of Eddie’s blanket-clad knees, and takes his time in smoothing out the wrinkles. Tomorrow morning, there’s going to be a nice warm bath waiting for him when he wakes in lieu of his morning shower, complete with all the nicely scented lotions and shampoos and whatever else that Eddie loves so much and buys in bulk.

Just as Richie is about to get off the bed, Eddie speaks, blinking up at Richie, gazing at him with all the love in his heart, “Thanks for doing this for me Richie. I just- I really appreciate it. I know it’s -it’s a lot to take in and you didn’t have to do it, but you did. I just- thanks.”

Richie coos, “Aww, you getting sappy on me, Kaspbrak?” and he gently pinches Eddie's cheek, “That’s cute.”

Eddie’s too tired to even playfully swat at his hand, chuckling, “You cried at Wall E, dude.” And before Richie can oppose that, Eddie cuts him off, “Seriously, I mean it, Rich. Thank you. I love you.”

Richie leans down and presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple, "Hey, I love you too, Spaghetti. And I enjoyed it too, you know.” He places a hand where he guesstimates Eddie’s stomach is underneath the two blankets, rubbing in small, circular motions. "I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

Eddie’s eyelids are drooping again, “If you ever want to try something…” Richie simply nods even though Eddie most likely didn’t catch it.

It wasn’t long before Eddie passes out again, mouth going slack and light snores tumbling out every now and again. Richie heads back to the living room to clean up, make sure all candles are out, toss out the garbage and leave the dishes in the sink for Tomorrow Richie to deal with. The movie has long since been over. Richie turns it off, then puts the remainders of the food into the fridge. After that, he passes five minutes by wiping down the tables and sweeping the kitchen floor up until he hears the timer go off on the blanket.

After the blanket is safely unplugged, Richie finally joins Eddie in bed. He tucks up close to his back, slowly easing his arm around Eddie’s waist so that his hand comes to a rest on Eddie’s chest, which rises and falls as he breathes. It’s comforting, more than Eddie will ever know, to hear him simply just breathe. Richie sighs and presses a kiss to his exposed shoulder blade, holding his lips there for only a minute before pulling back and nuzzling his face into Eddie’s neck where he quickly falls asleep as well.


	2. Chapter 2

Adding a second chapter update to boost this!

I saw that a link to this had been posted to twitter leading to it getting a bit more attention, so I wanted to give it a bit of an revamp! I went through to add a lot more content, and then fixed some typos/characterizations/plot stuff here and there!

Have a good day! 😊❤️


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